


Trying My Best to Love You

by bashert



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bashert/pseuds/bashert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Mac had answered the phone? </p><p>Post "5/1" AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trying My Best to Love You

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is what happens when I've been re-watching season 1 and haven't gotten much sleep. I hope you like it. If you don't, I'm sorry. 
> 
> The title is from the Jenny Lewis song.

 

She thought about not answering. It was late, well, technically it was early, but she was still wide awake, the adrenaline from the night still buzzing through her system. She was proud of their broadcast that night; they had hit it out of the park, even with her anchor higher than a kite. She was still trying to unwind from the high, and had curled up on the couch to drink a glass of wine and watch _A Philadelphia Story_.

She was about halfway through the movie when her phone rang, and she glanced down at the screen and wasn't surprised to see Will's name. He was usually the only one who called her in the middle of the night, but she had figured, considering how much pot he had ingested earlier in the evening, that he would have passed out almost immediately after returning to his apartment. Then again, he always did have a high tolerance for drugs and alcohol. Anyone else would have been an incoherent, babbling mess if they had eaten as many laced cookies as Will had, but not him. Instead he had done a damn good job reporting the news, one of his best ever, actually, which made her wonder if she should feed him pot-laced cookies before every broadcast.

But even still, she almost didn't answer her phone. Though she knew it was a lost cause, occasionally she grew enough of a backbone to tell herself that she needed to put some distance between her and Will. That she had apologized enough times, did her penance, and that no one, not even Will McAvoy, deserved to treat her like he treated her.

Her finger hovered over the buttons and then she sighed, _because who was she kidding_ , and answered.

"I thought you would have gone to sleep already," she said by way of greeting.

"You answered!" Will exclaimed, and she could hear the surprise and an underlying pleased tone in his voice.

"I _should_ be sleeping," she muttered.

"No, listen, I'm so glad you answered," Will barreled on. "Listen."

"I _am_ listening," she sighed, exasperated. "Would you rather I hang up and you can speak to my voicemail?" Will laughed, a full-bodied laugh that she felt all the way through the phone line.

"No, but Mac, let me get this out, I need to get this out," Will continued.

"Well, then go right ahead, who's stopping you?"

"Listen, I swear I'm not just saying this because I'm high, and if the answer is no, just do me a favor and never bring it up again. But I have to tell you, I mean after tonight, I really want to tell you," Will's voice dropped a level, like he was letting her in on a secret. "I've never stopped loving you. You were spectacular tonight."

Mac froze, and she felt breathless for a moment.

"What?" She squeaked out.

"I've never stopped loving you, Mac, never," he gave a light laugh. "I sometimes think it would be easier for me if I could. Easier for you, too."

"Will," she started, but then stopped. Her head was filled with a buzzing noise that was pushing everything else out. He loved her. He _loved_ her. Of course, he was high as a fucking kite at the moment, and as awful as it was, she had to entertain the possibility that he would want to take it back once he was sober. Her heart was pounding, and she had lost the ability to form actual, coherent sentences.

"Seriously, though, Mac, can you believe we got Obama?" Mac let out a choked laugh.

"Will," she tried again.

"Right, shit, bin Laden," he muttered.

"Will, you love me?"

"Always," he answered immediately, and he sounded clear and certain.

"Oh God, Will," she let out a sob, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth.

"Oh Christ, I didn't mean to make you cry," he sounded alarmed. "I just wanted to tell you that I loved you and you were wonderful tonight. You're wonderful every night. And I love you. Did I say that? I do, I love you."

"I love you too, you idiot," she cried.

"I'd like to come over, could I come over? I know it's late, or shit, I guess it's morning, and fuck, we have to go into work in like three hours, but I'd like to come over, because I love you," he said it simply, very matter-of-fact. As if it was something she should have known.

"Yes, come over," Mac told him. It didn't matter that they had to be at work in a little over a few hours, and it didn't matter that she had been awake for nearly twenty-four hours (she had gone longer without sleep, and for far less important reasons). Only after they hung up did she worry about how he was going to get over to her apartment, but that worry was pushed to the side as other worries crept in.

_If the answer is no._

Jesus. As if the answer could be anything other than a yes, yes, _yes._

She calculated quickly the length of time it took to get from Will's apartment to her apartment, and poured herself another glass of wine. She felt frantic and anxious, and she kept standing and then sitting, her pulse racing and her palms sweaty. It felt like ages before the doorbell finally buzzed, and she drained her glass of wine for liquid courage and stood to let him in.

And then he was there, standing in her apartment, hands shoved into pockets, looking as nervous as she felt.

"You made it," was the first thing that came tumbling out of her mouth, and she felt like an idiot as soon as she said it. And then, "I love you."

"Thank God," he breathed out, crossing to her and taking her in his arms. It was awkward at first, his mouth hot on hers, but then it was suddenly like muscle memory, hands reacquainting themselves, their bodies molding together.

Suddenly, Mac pulled away, her brows furrowed in concern.

"Will, you aren't going to...this isn't something you're going to regret when you sober up, right?" She couldn't handle that. They would never recover from that.

"No," his voice was firm. "Absolutely not."

Mac was smart enough to know that Will telling her that he loved her wasn't going to magically fix everything. There was still plenty of hurt between them that needed to be addressed. Both of them had been guilty of remembering their past relationship with a glaze of nostalgia and regret, of not remembering the fights that had shaken the walls, or the times that Mac had stormed out of his apartment or vice versa, so angry that it took a walk nearly the length of the city to cool off. Will had moments where he withdrew into himself, refusing to share with her what was going through his mind, and she was aware that she could be accused of doing the same.

A kiss and a declaration of love was not going to be enough to build a new relationship, a new future, on, but it was a start.

And as he tugged her closer to him, his hands large and strong on her back, she decided that it was late, or early, or whatever the fuck time it was, and to hell with logic. Because Will loved her. And god _damn_ did she love him. And at that moment, his words _I've never stopped loving you_ still bouncing around her head, and his arms around her body, she found it hard to make herself care about anything but him. 

"I love you," she hummed against his lips. And then she said it again, "I love you," because she could. And his smile was so wide that she thought she could fall into it.

"I love you," he repeated back. "I love you, I love you, I love you." 


End file.
